


This One's On Me

by sergeant_angel



Series: Evil Eyes and Daring Dodos [7]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Dogs, Drug Use, F/M, Matt and Kate accidentally acquire a boyfriend, Multi, Painkillers, Swearing, devil's chess, i have??? so many feelings about these three, nonprescription use of prescription drugs, oh look i finally posted this trash for real
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 23:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6630787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_angel/pseuds/sergeant_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doling out justice, vigilante style, is all well and good until not knowing someone's secret identity winds up with that person getting shot.<br/>(So, after getting to know Daredevil and Hawkeye, the Punisher winds up shooting one of the board members of Bishop Publishing.<br/>It's not like he knew, okay?)<br/>Alternate canon for the Nazar 'verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This One's On Me

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, you will know of my descent into the madness that is the Frank/Matt/Kate ot3.
> 
> So [awkwardnormalcy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkwardnormalcy) (who is simultaneously a horrible and also amazing person liek how) [showed me this](http://spectralarchers.tumblr.com/post/141963651977) and immediately i went "What if Frank shot Kate-Hawkeye?" and this entire story is a direct result of that. To be fair, many things I write are similarly the result of awkwardnormalcy sending me things? Basically if you want me to write stuff just start throwing photosets and gifsets at me and see what sticks.
> 
> No, I don't know what's wrong with me.  
> 

Frank has, in all honesty, expected to see one of the people he didn’t manage to kill show up at his door with murder in their eyes, for some time now.

When he hits, people don’t usually get up. But, on occasion, they do.

He just hadn’t expected the person who found him to be a spoiled heiress/CEO of a company who wears a lot of purple--

He hadn’t expected, when he opened the door after seeing nothing through the peephole, for her to drop from the ceiling, or to punch him square in the jaw, driving him back into the apartment. Nor had he expected the kick to the chest that sent him reeling and the woman--Katie, maybe? collapsing in a pile by the door. 

He hadn’t expected to _recognize_ the punch.

He hadn’t expected to recognize the voice that’s swearing at him, “Fuck, shit, goddamnit, ow.”

Or the woman he shot three days ago, glaring up at him (not scared, she hadn’t been scared on the rooftop and now he knows why)

“Call me a cab, asshole, I think I ripped the stitches from my goddamn _gunshot wound_.”

His dog walks over and licks at her hand, and Hawkeye stops glaring at him long enough to say, “I like your dog, Frank.”

 _Shit_.

“You’re not calling me a cab,” Hawkeye states from her place on the floor. “Fine. If that’s how you want to play this.”

She has a false start but manages to push herself up the wall, grimacing and panting the whole time. “I’ll just _leave_ then, 'kay _bye_.”

She steps forward, sways into his door. “In a minute. I’m leaving in a minute.”

“Call Daredevil to come pick you up.”

“Fuck you, Frank.”

“Already have.”

She sucks in air through her teeth, one arm wrapped around her torso. The other hand comes up to flip him off. 

“Didn’t think society girls were supposed to flip people off.”

She growls, then, and manages to open the door and stumble out into the hall, leaving a bloody handprint on his door. 

Shit.

“C’mon, Hawkeye. Get your ass back in here and wait for your boyfriend,” He calls down the hall. She’s almost to the stairs, though Frank suspects it’s more spite moving her than actual energy.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Frank,” she says from the top of the stairs. “You just--you shot me. Who does that?” she’s made it down three stairs by this point.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Hawkeye. Like you haven’t shot me.”

“That’s different!”

“Oh, yeah? How? Unless you mean that it’s worse because you shoot at me with arrows.”

“Please, Frank,” she’s reached the first landing. “If I’d wanted to do damage to you, I could have. _You_ shot me with malicious intent. Like a _jackass_.” 

“Want me to call you an ambulance?”

“I just escaped from the hospital. I’m not going back. I’m going home. A place _you_ do not get to go. Because you. Are. A. Jackass.”

Frank can tell she’s feeling woozy because it’s doing a number on her vocabulary.

And causing her to lose her balance. 

And hit her head against the wall.

And...

Goddamn shit.

He jumps down the rest of the stairs and manages to catch her before her head hits the ground.

* * *

The whole clusterfuck at Bishop Publishing makes more sense now. 

Katherine Bishop hadn’t been afraid of him; at the time he’d attributed it to pigheadedness or sheer stupidity, not the fact that she _knew_ him.

Figured she’d wanted him on the roof for some stupid publicity reason, not that she was giving him an escape route. 

Hawkeye had known he was going to shoot her.

And she still gave him a way out.

Probably. She’d probably done those things.

He’d like to know why she hadn’t said anything up there, away from the security cameras. Maybe she didn’t think it would make a difference.

It probably wouldn’t have, and if she’d told him, she probably wouldn’t have been able to get the drop on him, managing to redirect his shot somewhere nonlethal.

Probably.

* * *

Kate Bishop– _Hawkeye_ , and how the fuck does that even happen?–has her hand resting on his dog’s head, glaring daggers at him.

“Nice to see you awake again, sweetheart.”

He can see the growing patch of red on her shirt. 

“Are you cleaning the gun you shot me with?”

He’s not. He wants to get rid of that gun now, an inexplicable itch under his skin to dump it in the Hudson, as if that will somehow ease the guilt of having shot _Hawkeye_.

He shouldn’t feel guilty.

“You run one of the dirtiest corporations in the city,” he deflects. He was justified in shooting her. he has to remember that. Whoever she pretends to be at night, in the light of day she’s the heir to Bishop Publishing. 

“I know,” she pushes at the sofa, like she’s trying to sit up, and fails, settling back against the pillows with a groan. “We’re working on that.”

“On _what_? Expanding beyond the city?”

“On not being dirty,” she lets out a low moan, her hand pressing at her side. “Jesus, I forgot how much getting shot _hurts.”_

He’s still not going to apologize.

“I have this friend, right,” she squeezes her eyes shut, as if that will help with anything. “He and his team, they take down…the rich and powerful, I guess. And as a favor, they quietly took my father down. As a 'we’re sorry your dad put a hit out on you' gift." The words come faster, as if talking will distract her from the pain. “But, um. What happened was that the entire board was dirty. The employees, the regular people that we employ, they’re fine. They’re doing real work.  But if we take down the whole company, it’s the whole company. It’s everyone.  So I’ve been trying to, you know,” she grimaces, shifting restlessly on his couch. “Trying to clean house.”

The dog paws at her hand, shoving his nose against her fingers.

“Hey, puppy, it’s all right, it’s okay,” she tells the dog, even though things are clearly not okay. 

“He’s not a puppy,” Frank mutters, reassembling the gun he’s been cleaning. 

“False. All dogs are puppies.”

“Your pops really put a hit out on you?”

“Me and other Hawkeye,” the words grate out of her as she finally succeeds in pulling herself upright. “Which someone could make the argument my dad didn’t know who I was, but he did. He totally did.”

A bitten-back groan as she curls in on herself.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Frank slams the gun on the table. “Lay back down. If Red gets here and there’s no you, what do you think’s going to happen?”

“Don’t know don’t care,” she stands about halfway up before slowly sinking back down. He doesn’t doubt that she’s going to try until she succeeds, and probably get blood everywhere. 

“Jesus,” he says, then, “Shit. Lay down.” he digs in his first aid kit until he finds the bottle he’s looking for. “If you’re not going to a hospital, at least let me give you some painkillers.”

She lets off a burst of obviously fake laughter. “Right, because I’m going to take strange pills from the guy who _shot me_.”

“If I’d wanted to kill you I wouldn’t use pills.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because, wow, no.”

“Christ, Hawkeye!”

“Who’s that?” she blinks at him, wide-eyed innocence. “Who are you talking to?”

Frank squeezes his eyes shut. Shooting her again, while a bad idea, is an increasingly attractive thought.

“I’m Kate Bishop. I just broke out of the hospital to pet your dog.”

Thankfully, at that point Daredevil swings in through the window. 

Unfortunately, the window is closed, and he winds up showering Frank with a spray of glass.

“Oh,” Daredevil makes a big show of surveying the damage. “I didn’t see it was closed.”

For some reason, this sets Hawkeye off in a burst of very real and very painful laughter.

“What kind of passive-aggressive bullshit is that, Red? Are you gonna pay for that damage?”

In the full light of day, the Daredevil’s costume looks pretty ridiculous, though the eyes on his mask are shaded, somehow, which is still creepy in the light.

And he doesn’t bother to answer, just jerks the bottle out of Frank’s hand, twisting the lid off and sniffing at the pills. 

“They’re fine, Hawkeye,” he shakes two out into the palm of his glove. “It’s oxycodone.”

She sits back a little at that, looking from the pills to Daredevil to Frank.

“Can we get some water?” Daredevil calls back to him. “And can I assume you stole these from the hospital?”

“Hey, don’t complain,” Frank calls over the faucet. “It’s workin’ out for you all right, ain’t it? Do you know what the street value of those are? I should charge.”

“The only reason I need them is because you _shot_ me!” Hawkeye throws her head back and swallows the pills–and Frank has to take a second, because how does she make that look _elegant_?

“Not this again!” Frank yells. “Shouldn’t you be glad? Means your secret identity is still a secret, don’t it?”

“ _That’s not the point!”_

“Then what is?” 

Daredevil’s shoulder hits Frank’s chest, which is when he realizes that he and Hawkeye have been yelling in each other’s faces–and she’s looking a little corpselike again.

Deep breath, step back. Don't argue with the woman you shot.

“The _point_ ,”she stresses, her hand clutching at Daredevil’s arm, “Is that, _as per futzing usual,_  you shot first and never bothered to ask questions later. People have the capacity for change, and you’re not all-knowing. Half the people in that room? Assholes. The other half? They’re trying. They want the company to be better, more responsible.” Her whole body lists hard to the left and Daredevil’s hands go to her waist to keep her upright, which she doesn’t seem to notice. “You don’t know everything, _jackass_ ,” she pokes her finger hard into his chest, overbalancing herself, Daredevil once again keeping her upright.

And going by how she looks at Daredevil, she’d forgotten he was there. Sort of puzzled, running her fingers over his body armor like it’s a shell she’s figuring out how to crack to get to the soft center.

“Hmm,” the sound buzzes past her lips as she tap-tap-taps along Daredevil’s arm. Her knuckles rap against the armor. "Isn't that a great sound?" she says to none of them in particular, rapping again. "Huh."

She leans back hard on her heels, wobbling a little and gripping Daredevil's forearm. "Whoa. Wow. Probably should have eaten today, right?" Her eyes narrow, like she's trying and failing to focus on something. "They tried to feed me lime jello. Lime. _Lime_. Lime. Not even, like." 

She stops in the middle of her sentence and doesn't seem in any particular hurry to pick it up, which is when Daredevil gives her a little nudge.

“What do you say we get you home, Hawkeye?”

“Hey, Ma-my little demon, purple demon,” she drapes her arms over his shoulders, staring at him kinda dreamily–or dopily, since the drugs have definitely hit her system. 

Daredevil’s answering smile is no less idiotic, but he doesn’t have the excuse of opiates, so Frank is less willing to let it slide.

Her gaze drifts from Daredevil down to the floor.

“Hey, puppy,” she says to the dog again, rubbing his ears. “You wanna come with me, puppy?” 

She drops both of her hands to the mutt, rubbing both of her thumbs across his forehead. 

Damn traitor dog looks like he wants nothing more than to go with the bleeding and high lady, so Frank steps between them.

“Stop trying to steal my dog, Hawkeye.”

“Frank,” she seems to take great joy in saying his name, shoving at his chest. “ _Frank_. You are _solid_ , my friend. No wonder you two fight all the time, you are just, _wow_ ,” she shoves at his chest again, then stares at her hand on his chest. The heat of her seeps through his thin shirt, warming his skin. “I was gonna say something. What was it?”

“I have no idea,” Daredevil says. “Was it calling a cab? Because I’m pretty sure you need a cab.”

“No, shh, I’m thinking.” She drums her fingers on Frank’s chest, then seems to realize she’s got her hand on his chest, looking up with a start. “Ah! Frank! That’s what it was. I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. It’s just, I get upset when people shoot me, you know? You didn’t give me a concussion, or use me as an ashtray, so I can’t be _that_ mad at you, ya know?”

Daredevil’s jaw goes tight when she says _ashtray_ , and Frank glances at the scars along the side of her face.

"Also," she pushes her hand hard into his chest again. "Oh. Sorry. I should probably stop touching you. I like touching. On painkillers. Not like," she cuts off the joke no one is making. "Not like  _that._ But, but." Her face pinches before her features smooth over. “We should be friends.”

“Yeah, okay,” Frank smiles, just for a moment. “I never pegged you for a maudlin drunk, but if you still wanna be friends when the drugs wear off, we can be friends.”

She smiles at him, something sweet and genuine, no bite or sarcasm, and he knows she’s high but it’s still a nice expression. (not furious or pained, anyway)

“Remind me he said that,” she pokes Daredevil in the ribs. “Not the maudlin part, I know that. The other part. Can I have a hug?"

Daredevil sighs, just a half of one, before tucking her under his chin.

"Hey, is the room supposed to be moving?"

“It sure isn’t,” he repiles. “Let’s get you home.”

**Author's Note:**

> now this is posted and I can't use it as an excuse to not work on Riptide aaay.  
> Also, if this series employs the trope "Everyone's pets like Kate better" to excess, please direct your blame to awkwardnormalcy. Though this is like, absolutely a true thing and we shouldn't get mad at people for speaking the truth.  
> also, a few edits added. Kate's reaction to the drugs are my typical reactions (wanting to touch things, forgetting you're touching things, generally being weepy/huggy) which aren't everyone's reactions, so. I hope the edits make it flow better, at least!


End file.
